Love Like Laughter
by cinderalex
Summary: A HarryGinny get together [again] fic. Post Voldemort. Post Hogwarts.
1. Part One

Title: Love Like Laughter (1/4)  
Author: Cinderalex  
Summary: Ginny and Harry Get-Together (Again) Fic. Post Voldemort and Post Hogwarts.  
Genre: Romance  
Author's Note: This is a finals week presents to all my friends suffering through hell with me, but most especially to Matt who's the biggest Ginny fanboy I know. For the record, I've been working on this for three months and it is complete. Kate just wanted something to look forward to, so I'm posting it in four parts.

* * *

Dean is saying something to Ginny, whispering something into her ear, something that makes her laugh raucously, throwing her head back, her body shaking until her eyes are full of tears. Still, laughing, she whispers something back to Dean, making him laugh as well. And suddenly they are clutching each other's shoulders, foreheads pressed together, wheezing.

With her lips only inches from Dean's, she sees Harry, standing in the doorway, watching them, and blushes, but does not look away from him. Her smile freshens, the corners of her mouth turning all the way up again.

"Harry! You'll be wanting that report."

Dean moves away, but not very far away, eying Harry somewhat suspiciously. Really, Harry can't blame him, he had interrupted a _moment_. Then again, Ginny was working for him and she shouldn't be having _moments_ in the middle of the day. She should be handing in reports. She should be researching for her new assignment. She should be making field contacts, in order for everything to flow smoothly.

"Hi, Dean. I wasn't aware you would be stopping by today."

Dean nods politely. "Ginny and I had a lunch date scheduled, but at the last minute she owled to cancel. Too much work. So I brought lunch to her." He gestures to the Chinese take-out littering Ginny's desk.

"I invited Dean in order to ask him to sketch your description of Goyle Animagus, so I would have an easier time tracking him. He's agreed, of course." Ginny explains quickly, still flushing guiltily.

"That's wonderful. Thanks, Dean. When's a good time?" Harry realizes he is still looking at Ginny, even as he speaks to Dean, and looks away to focus on the papers Ginny is handing him, instead of on either of their faces.

"Tomorrow. At your office. Around ten?"

"Okay." Harry doesn't feel a need to prolong the conversation, and turns to leave. "Ginny," he adds, hand on the doorknob, "you don't have to sacrifice your lunch for work. Go out whenever you want." _With whomever you want_. But he doesn't say it, in part because he wouldn't mean it.

* * *

"Ginny?" She starts, looking up from his hands, which are folded atop his desk. Sometimes she forgets that she is supposed to listen when he talks, what with him being not just her boss, head of her Auror unit, but also Harry Potter. Sometimes she forgets that she isn't supposed to lose herself in fantasies of all the things those large Quidditch callused hands could do to her.

"Yes?"

He smiles, shaking his head. "You haven't heard a thing I've said."

_He knows_, she thinks, hoping it is not as terrible a thing as the butterflies in her stomach seem to indicate. "I was a bit distracted."

"I can tell." The bitterness behind the comment isn't reflected on his face, and confuses Ginny, until, "Dean stopped by this afternoon?"

Ginny's eyes widen. If she didn't know better, if she hadn't spent four years imagining just this moment, if she didn't know exactly how Harry felt about visitors in his office, Ginny might think Harry is jealous.

Their eyes meet, his still questioning, waiting impatiently for her answer. He _is_ jealous. "I heard what you said, about the high-pitched whine of Goyle's Animagus, I missed the rest because I was thinking about your hands." She smiles saucily, trying her best not to blush, as if she could control such things.

"_My hands_?" He looks taken aback, surprised and disbelieving.

"You've smudged ink along–" –she runs a finger gently along the outside of his right pinky– "–here." Watching her hand withdraw from his, Harry swallows and runs his left hand through his hair.

"Yes. I was–" He pauses and she feels laughter rise up, bursting out in the form of a giggle.

She's making herself sick. _What the hell does she think she's doing? _Harry is her boss. He'd made it clear years back that he had no interest in rekindling something that for him had burnt out with the last remnants of Voldemort's soul. He doesn't want her, doesn't need her, not anymore, as anything but a coworker. She needs to leave, get as far away from Harry as possible.

"I'm supposed to meet–" Harry holds a hand up, cutting her off, eyes traveling down her as she rises.

"No need to share your social schedule. Have a wonderful evening."

Ginny curses herself all the way out of the office, partly for allowing herself to flirt with Harry so outright and partly for not inviting him to pub with her this evening.

* * *

Ginny sits at her desk, presumably wrapped up in research, drumming her fingers rhythmically against her thigh to the music blaring on the wireless. Her hair is down, tumbling messily about her shoulders and every so often she reaches up to brush it out of her eyes. Harry thinks his Watch-Ginny-Work obsession is probably inappropriate. His Keep-Ginny-From-Having-A-Social-Life obsession is probably worse. However, he has no inclination to stop acting on either.

The song changes and Ginny begins to hum along with the music, loudly. Her singing voice is only mediocre which surprises him as he also has a Listening-to-Ginny's-Floo-Conversation-Just-To-Hear-The-Sound-Of-Her-Voice obsession. The effect her speaking voice has on him is very different than the effect of her singing voice.

"Hi." He says, more to stop her singing than because he has anything to say to her.

Startled, she whirls to face Harry, one hand behind her back groping, he assumes, to turn off the wireless. "Harry! Are you trying to scare me to death?"

"No." She's blushing brightly and still hasn't managed to find the off switch. With a hiss of frustration, she turns back around and the song cuts off abruptly. "I was wondering if you were hungry."

* * *

"So..."

"So."

"How've you been?"

"You already asked me that."

"I'm sorry. It's just..."

It's tiring to watch him attempt conversation, especially when she, too, has no idea what to say, what they can share. Directness, she decides, is the best approach. "Why did you ask me out, today?"

He sips his tea unsteadily, eyes fixed on her sandwich. He swallows, still not looking up, murmurs, "I missed you."

"_Me_? _You_ missed _me_?" She doesn't believe him. His life has been too busy. He should not, could not, have had time to miss anyone, least of all her. He sees her everyday. And then, he looks up, finally, and catches her gaze, his green eyes searching hers. Their glassiness implies that maybe, just maybe, he's telling the truth. He looks away again. The certainty, or rather the hope of certainty, she felt a second ago disappears abruptly without the reassurance of his almost tear-filled eyes.

He smooths his hair. It is a habit from school, and it reminds her that he is still a boy, still _the _boy that she fell in love with whenever it was that she first saw him. "Yes."

"Yes?" She's forgotten if she asked a question. She might not have, and he might be answering a question that she hadn't asked. He did seem very distracted.

He smiles, but only half-way, and shakes his head. "Never mind. What have you been up to lately? How's work?"

"Harry. We work in the same department. You know exactly how work is going. You're my goddamn boss. You've read all my reports."

"You're right, I suppose," he agrees, turning his attention to the soup sitting in front of him, probably cold after sitting untouched for these last few minutes, which had been longer than hours.

Maybe if they both finished their meals quickly, they could return to the office, pretending this disaster had never happened. But Harry is eating very, very slowly, really pushing the potatoes in soup around more than eating them.

"Harry, my fifth year, your sixth year, that was a very long time ago."

He nods, stirring already cold soup contemplatively. He's not going to make this any easier on her.

"Do you want...?" She regrets saying it immediately. His head snaps up and he stares at her, his face impassive, his eyes alight. When he bites his lip, she knows he's confused, trying to decide something.

"No." He says finally, not sounding confused at all. He looks at his watch. "You should be back at work by now."

Normally, Ginny would shoot back something witty and flirtatious about her blaming her boss, but she's too angry. She would never have guessed that Harry would have the gall to invite her out, toy around with her, buy her lunch, and let her think that maybe, just maybe they could have something. Her palms itch. She should smack him.

Except that he's frowning, puzzled and worried. "Ginny, I want to be friends with you again. It's uncomfortable working with you and remembering how close we were once. I do miss you." His hand is in his hair again. "What are you doing on Friday night?"

Friends. He wants them to be friends. His eyes search hers, their color enchanting, and she knows she won't ever be able to look at him without remembering how they were once more than friends. Her eyes move to his lips, which are drawn into a wide, nervous line. "I'm going on a date with Dean. To the Tornadoes' match."

He raises his eyebrows, and she immediately regrets the lie. Well, it isn't quite a lie. She just hadn't planned on actually accepting Dean's invitation. "You should come. And bring what's-her-name."

"Maybe." But he's not looking at her anymore. He's rising to pay.

Review, please.


	2. Part Two

Title: Love Like Laughter (2/4)  
Rating: PG-13 (for language)  
Disclaimer: Not mine.  
Author's Note: For all my friends who are spazzing right now because apparently "finals week" translates to "relationship drama week." But mostly for Matty, who is only spazzing to make us smile. And also he fanboys Ginny.

* * *

Her name is Susan and she is a nice girl. Like Ginny, she is strong, brave, beautiful, and a damn good Auror. Well, she is a decent Auror, not quite as strong or brave or beautiful as Ginny, but just as successful. Unlike Ginny, she likes Harry, likes going on dates with Harry, however irregularly he asks her. Unfortunately, also unlike Ginny, Susan does not like Quidditch. Knowing this, it would be rude of Harry to ask her to the match Friday night.

"Hi Harry."

He looks up from the pile of papers he was trying to read on his desk, taken off guard by Susan's sudden appearance, which was silly because had just sent a memo asking for her. But that was less than five minutes ago. He supposes, after so many dates, he should have realized how prompt Susan always is. Ginny, her office just down the hall instead of across the building, wouldn't have arrived for at least another ten minutes.

"Hi," he says, forcing a smile that he hopes looks genuine. "How are you?"

"I'm pretty good," she smiles back, shrugging. "What did you need me for? Have you found a lead on the Rosier case?"

Harry shakes his head. "Nothing as exciting as that. I was wondering, are you busy Friday evening?"

Susan laughs, running a hand through her long, very long, blonde waves. "Depends."Susan is usually shy, but sometimes, like right now, she finds the courage to flirt coyly.

"Could I persuade you drop your other offers, and come to dinner with me?"

Susan twists a strand of hair around her finger thoughtfully. "I'm on duty in Hogsmeade 'til nine, so as long as it's a late dinner and nowhere too fancy, I don't want be rushing home to change and clean up, I imagine I'll be very hungry."

"The Three Broomsticks at just past nine, it is," Harry agrees, jotting a note to himself on a piece of scrap parchment. He hasn't been able to find his calender in weeks.

"Alright." Susan shifts, looking a bit uncomfortable, perhaps not sure whether she should stay or leave.

"Harry!" Ginny bursts into the room. "I have the drawings. Dean stopped by while we were–" She cuts off as soon as she sees Susan.

"Hi Ginny!" Susan greets her brightly.

Ginny does not smile back, and sends Harry an angry glance, "Should I come back later?"

"No," Harry absorbs himself in restacking papers on his desk. "Susan was just leaving."

"Yes." Susan sounds very uncertain, though. "See you on Friday, Harry?"

He nods, sending her a very brief and half-hearted smile.

* * *

His hand gripping her elbow, Dean guides Ginny into the pub.

"I'm tired, Dean," she lies easily. Bored will turn to tired very quickly once she's downed a couple drinks. She'd rather curl up on her couch with the thriller George lent her last week. He'd be wanting it back soon.

"If you'd rather go somewhere more private..." Dean suggests, his arm slipping around her waist, his lips against her hair.

"Sleepy does not mean horny." Ginny is not afraid to clarify this. She's annoyed with Dean and kicking herself for accepting the invitation. This was how dates with Dean always turned out, with Dean leading her around to places she particularly did not want to be and pressuring her to do things she particularly did not want to do. She had thought, last year, when she'd started dating him again, that she'd be mature enough to handle his pressure or, even better, that he'd be less inclined to pressure her. She was wrong.

She hears laughter, a distinctive Harry laugh, and turns to see Harry at a back table with Susan, who is fingering her hair and probably playing footsie with Harry under the table.

Harry likes feet. His own are very ticklish and Ginny smiles thinking of the fun she'd had running quills along the bottoms of them fifth year whenever he tried to study.

"Should we sit with them?" Dean is pressing even closer to her, pushing her towards their table, even before she has a chance to answer.

She catches Harry's eye and his gaze doesn't leave hers until she is sitting across from him.

* * *

Ginny has wrapped herself around Dean, who is looking very satisfied with himself, as he nurses a coke. Harry would have left an hour ago if he hadn't been suspicious as to Dean's intentions toward Ginny who had made it clear to all that her only intention was to become hopelessly drunk.

"Susan, 'member when we jumped off that cliff?"

Susan laughs. "How could I forget?" She tries to play it cool, but Harry knows Ginny makes her uncomfortable, especially drunk like this. "We were being chased by Death Eaters. It was the scariest night of my life."

"Luckily, we had Harry, here," Harry feels something brush against the inside of his calf, "to save us."

"Ginny, it was Ron who found you two."

"Oh bloody hell, it was. You told him to." The same something that was brushing his calf is now moving up his thigh in what he recognizes as a clumsy caress. Casually Harry's hand drifts underneath the table and gently shoves Ginny's foot off his lap. She bursts into uncontrolled giggles, almost falling from her stool.

"Don't tickle me Harry! And Dean, darling, may I have another? I've always wanted to try Rosemerta's Lightening Lemonade." She says these words close to Dean's ear, in what she must have thought was a whisper.

Dean raises his arm to gesture for the waitress, but Harry grabs it before he is able. "She's had enough to drink already. One more and she'll pass out."

"Harry." Ginny's foot is moving up his leg again. "I really want to try–"

Harry stands and walks around the table to pull Ginny up out of her seat. He sends Susan an apologetic smile. "I'm going to take her home."

"Can we floo?" Ginny asks eagerly.

* * *

When Ginny wakes, for the third time, it is to the sound of running water, and she can no longer ignore the ache in her bladder. Rising groggily, Ginny plods toward the bathroom only to find it already occupied. _Shit_. She must've brought Dean home, which was strange because she didn't remember waking up next to him earlier.

Even sloshed, especially sloshed, she didn't think that she'd have invited Dean back. Slapped him, maybe. Told him she thought he was lame, maybe. Ignored him while trying to snog or even shag Harry, maybe. But bring him home?

When she opens her mouth, no sound comes out and the effort makes her realize just how dry her throat is. She bangs on the door, her fist heavy and falling back to her side with a jerk.

"Howd on." The lock clicks and Harry opens the door. He's brushing his teeth wearing only his jeans from the night before, hair knotted badly and sticking up in several places atop his head.

"Fuck! Harry! What are you–? Did we–? Where's your shirt?" She's found her voice somewhere in the rush of panicked surprise.

Harry spits and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "You were smashed and I didn't want you to do something you'd regret, especially as Dean seemed to have no problem with ogling you no matter that you were about to barf all over him, so I took you home. Except that you passed out almost immediately. I stayed to make sure you'd wake up." Harry walks past her and gestures for her to enter to the empty bathroom.

Ginny blinks, trying to make sense of what he's said. "Wait. Why?"

Harry shrugs. "Don't you have to use the toilet?"

Nodding, Ginny makes her way to the toilet.

"Coffee's in the kitchen," he says and closes the door.

Ten minutes later she and Harry sit across from one another in silence, sipping coffee from cracked tea cups. "These–" –he held up the porcelain cups, pink with blue flowers– "–were all I could find," he'd said apologetically, but he did not push her to find the mugs, for which she is grateful as she has a sneaking suspicion they are sitting, still dirty, in the underneath the pile of dishes in the sink.

It's nice, she muses, to wake up and find the coffee already made, to have someone to sip it with, even if they are both quiet, especially if that person has mussed black hair, bright green eyes, and a peculiar scar, traits which she finds very particularly aesthetically appealing. Easy to stare at, really.

He's staring right back. Or at least he was until she tried to catch his eye. She's a bit embarrassed of her pajamas, her old Quidditch jumper, and distinctly hungover appearance, but figures Harry's seen her in less. Granted, the circumstances were very different as he'd been almost naked as well. And aroused. Guardedly, flicking her eyes up and down him, she decided that perhaps the circumstances hadn't been that different after all.

"We should start over."

Harry jerks, spilling a bit of coffee, and catches her eye, running fingers wet from coffee through his hair guiltily. "What?" His voice is rough, and she recognizes the particular texture. His eyes are lit, and she can tell he is eager for her answer.

"We should be friends."

"Oh." His shoulders sag, but only slightly and his reply doesn't sound _that_ weak.

* * *

Please review. 


	3. Part Three

Title: Love Like Laughter (3/4)  
Summary: A Ginny and Harry Get-Together (Again) Fic. Post Voldemort and Post Hogwarts.  
Length: (this chapter) 1800 words  
Character/Pairings(s): Harry/Ginny  
Rating: PG-13 (so far)  
Genre: Romance

* * *

Harry startles when he hears two sharp raps at his door. He attempts to shift the papers on his desk quickly so as to hide the magazine he'd been flipping through, but he isn't fast enough.

"Is that the new issue of Quidditch Monthly?" Ginny asks with interest, moving around behind his desk, until she is reading over his shoulder. "I haven't gotten my copy yet."

"Just came in." Harry replies. He is very aware of Ginny's cheek next to his. As he turns the page unsteadily to the feature article, several shiny strands of red hair cascade over her shoulder and into his line of sight. "Apparently the last three matches, you know, the ones the Cannon's won, Teddy used Felix Felices."

"Ron's going to be so– wait, '_Teddy_'?"

Now that they are facing one another, her nose is only inches from his and all he can think about is bumping it with his own. And then kissing her, and then undressing her, and then shagging her. She is looking at him very strangely and he hopes she can't read his thoughts. Oh yes, she's asked a question. "Yes, Theodore Nott, the seeker."

"Yes, I know, but '_Teddy_'?"

Harry flushes. It's the man's nickname, what can he say? "I'm sure you had a purpose in interrupting my work." He punctuates the sentence with a glance at his watch.

"Your work?" Ginny laughs, raising herself to her full of height of Still Not Very Tall, "Sure. But, yes, I did. I need to go out and investigate this afternoon. Apparently, a Muggle nearby has been spotted with a pitbull who's markings match that of the Animagus Dean drew from your description. The owner's name is Mrs. Emily Oates, and she walks the dog through the park down the street from her flat every day at three. I'm going to go check it out."

Harry contemplates the piles of paperwork on his desk.

"Alright, sir?" Ginny prompts. He hates when she calls him that. They are friends, now, after all.

"I'm coming with you."

Ginny's brows furrow and she crosses her arms defensively. "I can handle this perfectly well on my own."

"I know. I'm bored. Obviously. And also, I know what he looks like."

"Harry..." She warns.

"I'm the boss."

* * *

"What do you think? Is he more attractive as a person or a dog?" Harry is sitting next to her on the wooden bench, his Quidditch Monthly open on his lap. Ginny is very aware of the fact that Harry's elbow is _not _touching hers. What's important is that if she were to shift her weight even slightly, it would be. And knowing that makes her skin tingle.

"A dog." Which is saying a lot as he is a very ugly dog, an English Bulldog to be exact. Ginny shifts. She knows that to anyone watching, she appears to be glancing at an article in Harry's magazine, but really she is trying for a better view of the dog. Elbows brush, accidentally, of course. "So it's him?"

Harry's eyes flick up quickly, before returning to the article on 'Teddy.' "Yeah. It's him."

Harry is a good Auror, the best perhaps, but really, how can he know for certain when the dog, possibly Goyle, is more than ten yards away. "How can you tell?" She's trying not to be critical, but perhaps it comes out that way.

Harry doesn't seem to mind. With confidence, he says, "He keeps looking at us."

Ginny sighs. "I told you we should have come disguised or under a Disillusionment charm."

"Then how would I know it was him? Just wait, thirty seconds, and you can count them, before he runs in this direction to get a better look."

Ginny shakes her head and listens as Harry begins to count the seconds under his breath.

"Three... four... five... six..."

The dog barks at something. A squirrel, maybe, but makes no move to leave the feet of the little old lady. The lady herself seems to have fallen asleep, and her glasses, luckily attached to a beaded chain hanging around her neck, are sliding down her nose.

"Ten... eleven... twelve... thirteen..."

Harry slips his arm around her, but she ignores him. The dog continues to bark and an old man reading the newspaper on a nearby bench glares at him. The old woman continues to sleep.

"Bastard... eighteen... nineteen... twenty..."

His fingers drum against her shoulder with each count, but she does not notice. (She is very glad she's put her hair in a bun because otherwise, he'd probably be fussing with the ends of her hair that reach exactly the point upon which his fingers are currently dancing. That would certainly be her undoing.)

The dog begins to chase the squirrel he was barking at, but a butterfly distracts him and he turns to chase that instead. In most situations, this would have been an indication that the dog was indeed a dog and not a wizard, but Goyle was just dumb enough that he might be distracted by a small insect.

"Twenty-four... twenty-five... twenty-six... twenty-seven..."

Harry is moving closer to her with every number and around twenty-five it becomes a bit (more) distracting as she can feel his breath on her neck. But while trying desperately not to lean into him so that his lips brush her ear, she sees that the dog is chasing the butterfly in their direction.

"I told you. Now we're going to make feeble attempt at convincing him we're not here to see him."

"How're we going..." She stops, unable to speak when his mouth covers the place where her shoulder meets her neck, and then makes it's way up to her ear, licking, nipping and biting. She closes her eyes and allows herself to enjoy the sensations for several seconds.

Harry stops kissing her, but she knows he remains close as she can still feel the hairs on her nape rise with his every exhalation. She opens her eyes to see that the dog has bounded back to its owner, who has awakened.

"Harry," she whispers, smiling, "that was inappropriate."

He still hasn't moved away. "I know." He speaks these words against her skin, but pulls away to say, "I'm sorry."

She instantly feels guilty about making him feel guilty. She had enjoyed it after all. She is simply disappointed that it was a ploy and not a real kiss. He was kissing his partner in order to distract and confuse the enemy, he wasn't kissing Ginny Weasley because her neck is so sexy and tempting that he just couldn't resist.

Except that his kiss said something different. The dance of his lips and tongue and teeth across her skin told her she was Ginny Weasley, The Girl Harry Potter Loves (Or At Least Wants To Marry And Make Lots Of Redheaded, Green-Eyed Babies With).

In order to put distance between herself and Harry, Ginny rises. "What do we do now?"

"We wait." Harry rises as well.

"So we're going to set up a stakeout?" Ginny asks, immediately warming to the idea of spending days in a confined space with Harry. She steps a bit closer, then remembers the past few minutes and moves back again. She adds, "Sounds miserable," trying to convince herself that it's true.

Harry shrugs. "The only way to do it, as far as I see. Wouldn't be too bad." He's trying to catch her eye, but she looks resolutely at the tree behind his shoulder. "If you really want I can transfer the case to someone else."

"No, I can do it." Whatever else she is, Ginny Weasley is not a quitter. Except that she has just signed the next few nights away to being confined in a cramped, dark space with the man that she's lusted after since before she knew what lust was, her boss, the man that has rejected her once, no twice, if she counts the almost-like-a-lunch-date they'd had. Damn Harry Potter, damn him to hell.

* * *

Ginny is rebraiding her hair, eyes steadily focused on the door in front of her and as she lifts the hair off her neck he can see two faded bruises. From him. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to look away, knowing his eyes shouldn't leave the yard door in front of him.

"Any sign yet, Harry?"

"Erm."

She laughs, her eyes catching his, brown and warm, in the mirror. "Me either." Her laughter fades off shakily and she captures her lower lip between her teeth. "Are you sure that he'll–"

"Yes."

They've had this discussion twice already. Ginny is under the impression that Goyle won't leave house, or perhaps that he's already left. Harry is certain Goyle is stupid enough to fall into their trap. Ginny gives Goyle more credit, especially as he's seen them in the park. Harry knows how to lay traps for Goyle, is practiced at it. Ginny thinks Goyle has learned something since his second year, as he is still on the loose. Harry has read (and written) the reports that put Goyle low priority on the Wanted List. He understands that if they renew the argument, they _will_ miss his exit.

Not that he isn't distracted anyway. He shouldn't have come. Or he should have insisted another Auror take Ginny's place. But he is enjoying the way the setting sun sets her hair afire as it reflects into the glass of the mirror.

* * *

"Her light's off."

Harry nods, smiling at her, before tearing his gaze away from the mirror. "I think he'll come out the back door."

"So you've said."

Harry coughs, eyes focused on the door in front of him. "Just wait."

"I've been waiting," Ginny replies, smiling. She likes the banter. It makes her feel comfortable, a feat, as she is constantly restraining her hand as it itches to reach for her neck to brush along the bruise, uncertain whether the memory Harry's teeth against her skin was part of an elaborate daydream.

She returns her attention to the door, which is painted navy, unremarkable except for a small golden placard that reads "Beware of Dog." She wonders, mildly, who or what Goyle tried to eat. He isn't particularly vicious, but, she remembers, he has a voracious appetite.

A movement, a slight rustle of the curtain covering the long, slim window beside the door, catches her eye.

"Harry," she whispers, pulse beginning to race. "He's coming."

"What? I don't see him." Harry asks, confused.

"That's because he's coming out the front door." Ginny pauses as Goyle's figure appears in the doorway. "I'm going in." She slips the mirror into her robe and casts a quick Disillusionment Charm.


	4. Part Four

Title: Love Like Laughter (4/4)  
Summary: A Ginny and Harry Get-Together (Again) Fic. Post Voldemort and Post Hogwarts.  
Length: (this chapter) 1700 words  
Character/Pairings(s): Harry/Ginny  
Genre: Romance

01010101010

Before she finishes her sentence, Harry's tucked his mirror back inside his robes and Disillusioned himself. He rushes, cursing the heavy Auror robes Kingsley insists they wear despite Harry's constant petitions for robes that allow more fluidity of movement.

Still, by the time he reaches the front of the house, Goyle is Disarmed and Stunned, levitating limply in front of Ginny.

"You're slow." She smiles, her eyes accusing though they don't leave Goyle's hovering form. She bites her lip, perhaps contemplating the best place to take her stunned captive.

"Perhaps," Harry suggests, preparing to Apparate, "you're simply very fast." 

"You would know, wouldn't you?"

Surprised, Harry watches her carefully for several seconds. Her expression does change. "What?"

"I'll dispose of him." And she disappears with a very soft _Pop!_, taking the prisoner with her.

He runs his fingers through his hair, watching the spot of air she'd recently displaced. Suddenly, he feels the night all around him, dark and silent, and misses Ginny.

Sighing, he Apparates to his office with a loud _Pop!_ that frightens a nearby dog into loud yipping barks, but Harry doesn't hear because he's already gazing mournfully at the pile of paperwork he has to fill out detailing the assignment and wishing Ginny would hurry back from Azkaban to help.

01010101010

Harry's fingers are in his hair, combing it down as his eyes gaze steadily over the form in front of him. Picking up the quill from his desk, he jots answers hastily on the lines. When he reaches the bottom of the parchment, he rubs the bridge of his nose displacing his glasses slightly before signing his name with a flourish.

He rises, paper in hand and sees Ginny in doorway, watching him. With a smile, he says, "Just who I was looking for."

"You're just who I was looking for." She waves the Azkaban documents at her side.

"Excuse me, Ginny, but I'm pretty sure I'm just who you were looking _at._" He grabs at the folder, but she pulls it out of his reach.

"Let me see the report first."

"Alright." He hands it to her.

Eyes flicking over the parchment, she bites her lip and, not looking up the parchment, says, "Quill?"

She hears Harry shuffling through paper on his desk. "I don't know where..." Something falls to the ground and shatters. Harry bends over to pick it up and Ginny takes the opportunity to watch the back pockets of his jeans stretch slightly over his arse. He says a quick _Reparo,_ stands, and replaces the photo on his desk. (She knows from past snooping that it's a wizarding picture from Ron and Herimone's wedding of the entire Weasley clan. She wishes he'd picked the other shot because her picture self is laughing hysterically in this one, partly because she'd had too much champagne and partly because Fred was about to set off dung bomb on Hermione's train.)

"Here." Harry offers her a quill, already inked, and she snatches it.

She flicks her eyes over the document one last time. "Wait. I can't sign this." She twirls the quill, sending Harry an accusing smile.

He blushes and reaches to take the paper back. "What? Did I make a mistake?"

Stepping away and pulling the paper out of his reach she says, "Yes, you did. You seem to have remembered to put in your brilliance concerning your ability to guess Goyle's location, but have left our your stupidity and slothishness in terms of actually capturing him."

"What!" He cries, indignant. "What was I supposed to say. I mean, I gave you credit for hexing him!"

Pursing her lips and schooling her features into sour disapproval, she replies, "But I feel that some note should be made about your complete failure to anticipate when and where the former Death Eater would run." She punctuates the statement by jabbing her finger into his chest.

"I'm an Auror, not a Seer, for Christ's sake!"

She can't help it and lets free a small hiccup of a giggle.

"ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME!"

The hiccup turns into a roar, and, as Harry's eyes bulge, she backs away carefully until she her back is against the glass door of his office. She bites her lip to hold back more laughter, and Harry's eyes darken, focusing on her mouth. The situation no longer seems funny, but still her breathing is unsteady and her pulse, racing.

"Ginny," Harry warns, his hands moving toward her face, but she's not sure what he's her warning against. Then his lips are hers and she doesn't think it matters anymore.

He's tentative at first, gently rubbing his mouth along hers, but when she tilts her head, he takes advantage of the new angle to deepen the kiss, tongue pressing between her lips. His hands slid up her neck and into her hair, pulling it free from it's ponytail, and the smooth, tugging pressure drags a moan from her. Carefully, she places a hand on Harry's chest.

He pulls back.

"Harry!" She gasps, frustrated, tugging on a fistful of his robes.

Extricating himself from her grasp, he mutters, "Shit, Ginny. I'm sorry. You didn't ask..." And then he Disapparates with a _Pop!_

01010101010

Pacing around his flat, clenching and unclenching his fists, Harry curses himself for being such a bastard.

He wants to throw something. Or punch someone. Or spend hours flying round England until he's lost. Mostly he wants to finish what he started with Ginny. He's still hard. And from a kiss. Granted, he'd been thinking about kissing her all evening. Well, perhaps since the park. Or maybe since he saw her being so friendly with Dean. If he was honest, he'd been thinking about kissing Ginny since sixth year. 

And he's still thinking about it. He's thinking about the way her eyes squinted and her cheeks pinkened when she laughed. The way her lips parted beneath his gaze. The way she allowed him to press up against her, chest to chest. The sound she'd made when his tongue touched hers. The way she'd moved her hand up his chest, presumably to push him away.

"Damnit!" He kicks the coffee table in front of him.

"Normally people shout out in pain after they hurt themselves, not before."

He whirls around to see Ginny, walking toward him, grinning.

"How did you get here?" Being the savior of the wizarding world, he has many enemies and his flat is heavily warded.

"I used the floo from your office."

He nods. Of course she would be able find the only fireplace on the network that would take her directly to his flat. He can't understand why she's still smiling. She should be slapping him.

"Harry." She's within grabbing distance now and he wants to tell her that if she starts laughing again, he won't be responsible for his actions. But she doesn't laugh. Instead, she places a hand on either side of his face, pulling him down and into a kiss.

This time it's her tongue, eager and wet, that seeks out his, pushing, rubbing, twisting. One of her hands has drifted into his hair and the other rests against his nape. He moans in protest when her lips move away from his, but suddenly they are on his neck, and then at the hollow of his throat.

Her fingers are unbuttoning his robes, and pushing them off his shoulders so that they pool with a soft _woosh_ on the floor.

Backing away from her, he says, voice low and rough, "I thought that you were interested in being friends."

Smiling, eyes narrowed predatorily, she murmurs, "Yes, that too. But not now." She wraps her arms around his neck. "Now, you should kiss me." 

01010101010

"You're too distracting," Ginny whispers while drawing circles on Harry's naked chest.

He stills her hand. "_You're_ too distracting." She laughs and tries to kick him, but only succeeds in tangling her leg in the sheet. "But tell me, why am I distracting?"

"Believe it or not," she says, knowing he won't believe her when she does not believe herself, "I did not come here for a quick fuck." 

"Well," he says reasonably, "you got one quick fuck, a good night's sleep, and then a very, very slow fuck."

"I came here to make sure you received the signed documents and sent them in right away." Her eyes narrow and she pokes him in the chest. "But you distracted me."

He snickers and running finger up her arm, says, "They're already ten hours late. What's another hour?"

"I'm sore," she mutters indignantly, rolling away from him.

"Too sore for lunch?" 

Immediately, she sits up and begins scanning the room for her clothes. "Lunch sounds brilliant."

01010101010

"So," Ginny says when they've both finished their sandwiches.

Harry shakes his head, feeling very full, content to sit silently. 

"You've a spot of mustard on your cheek." She reaches across the table and wipes at it. Harry can see down her shirt. He swallows, suddenly not so content.

"Ginny. I don't think..."

"Harry. I do think and because I think I know that we've both been waiting for this for a long time. I've caught you watching me. And don't tell me I didn't proposition you and not Dean when I was drunk at The Three Broomsticks. Actually, I was a bit disappointed we didn't shag that night. We're good together. I like you."

Uncomfortable and not wanting to be a girl, he replies, "I like you too." As she catches his hand in hers, he remembers what he was going to say before she cut him off. "Ginny, I can't work with you anymore, not if we're..." 

"That's not a problem. Kingsley said he was going to give me my own team if I carried off one more of your missions well." 

"He didn't tell me." Her thumb traces the veins on the back of his hand. "We'd better turn the paperwork in from last night."

Looking right into his eye and running her foot along his calf, she murmurs, "Harry, I'm glad we're doing this. I really have missed you."

"You still smell the same." 

Ginny smiles and pulls him out of the chair and into her arms. Rubbing her nose against his, their lips almost touching, she closes her eyes and laughs. And he thinks it sounds a lot like love.


End file.
